Title: Pearls Before Swine
Rating: M (suggestive situations)
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them
Summary: Jack puts Tortuga and the two wenches to his rudder without another thought.
--
Pearls Before Swine
Jack Sparrow was not a man to suffer regrets. Oh, sure, he had his moments of pique, as any man ought, when fate intervened, disrupting him from his desired course. But these moments were usually set aside, with the firm belief that there was always another course that could be set, another means to said ends.
Take for example, the current course he was plotting: after leaving the pirate haven of Tortuga, where he had hoped to weather the inevitable storm brewing in the aftermath of his latest raid, Jack had two goals in mind. One was to distance himself, as far as possible, from the vexing presence of two of his favorite wenches, under normal circumstances. And second, to make port at an equally pleasant oasis, where he and his men could get back to squandering their gold on rum, women and dissolute living.
Jack gave orders to set sail for New Providence, a pirate stronghold, where they could lie low until the lack of funds demanded they go out on account, once more. Taking the helm, he kept a resolute eye on the horizon, putting both Tortuga and the two ungrateful wenches to his rudder without another thought.
--
It only took an hour for Scarlett and Giselle to pack up their meager belongings. Scarlett took one last look around the narrow, seedy room that she'd come to call home and squared her shoulders.
"Best not wallow in our grief, that's what my mum always said," she told her roommate, as she picked up the last item to be packed, her small wooden box. She brushed her hand across the worn wood, trying not to dwell on thoughts best laid to rest. Then, with head held high, she marched down the stairs for the last time, determined not to let anyone see how truly devastated she was.
Giselle followed at a slower pace. "Where'll ya go now?" she asked Scarlett, her tone more curious than worried.
Scarlett turned with a sad smile. "Wherever I can earn a bed for the night. Same as you I suppose." She paused, then said with feeling, "You take care of yourself, you hear? Always too trustin', you are. One day you're going t' find that men are what I've been tellin' you all along, interested only in themselves."
She gave Giselle a brief hug then turned and made her way up the muddy street toward the waterfront, blinking back the tears that were forming. The night was looking to be a long one. Best be getting to work.
--
The island of New Providence was a pirate's paradise. Not as fancy as Tortuga, it was a place where a pirate would have no trouble finding plenty of rum and salty wenches upon which to spend his ill-gotten gains. Favorable winds had followed them, and the Black Pearl made port a scant three days after leaving Tortuga. After securing the ship and setting a watch, Jack had given the remainder of the crew liberal shore leave. Not needing to be told twice, the men headed for town, eager to take up where they had left off at their last port of call.
"Fixin' t' join the crew, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked, poking his head into the cabin where Jack was sitting at the large mahogany table, scattered with charts and other items.
Jack shook his head. "I got me log to update and some other such business to tend to. You go on ahead." He waved a dismissive hand at Gibbs and went back to writing in his logbook, stopping occasionally to take a swig from the bottle of rum that held down the corner of a chart.
"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Gibbs said, and left his captain to his duties.
Truth be told, Jack was having mixed feelings about his abrupt departure from Tortuga. Not that he felt he'd done anything wrong. It was just that he hated the thought of the wenches being pressed into seeking out another man of repute to deal with their landlord. Jack smiled at the thought of Giselle's faith in his ability to remedy the situation, by reputation alone. Jack had worked long and hard at building that reputation. It seemed rather contradictory for him to have sailed without testing it.
Would have been easy enough, t' talk some reason into the man. And if that failed, a bit of bluster and threat might have been enough. Bloody merchants owe their livelihoods to the plunder we bring into port. Best they not be lookin' the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
He took another swallow of rum and sat back in his chair. With a sigh, he tossed down his quill and propped his boots up on the corner of the table. A twinge of conscience was beating against his mind like a moth to a flame. It was a soft, incessant fluttering, nothing he couldn't ignore, but annoying, nonetheless.
Why should I care? They are just a pair of strumpets, whores, doxies. No man's prize. They spread their legs for the lot of 'em. Hell, the blonde wench admitted as much. Had me whole crew, she did. Why should I care? Plenty of other waggle- tails out there to chase.
Jack decided that what he needed was a good night, with a willing wench, to put the other two out of his mind. He donned his hat and coat, and set out in search of the same.
--
Giselle was sitting in the corner of the Faithful Bride, her lips moving silently as she counted her meager earnings. She had just enough for either a room for the night, or a meal. Her grumbling belly was beggin' for the latter, and so she decided to take her chances and spend what she had, in the hopes a late customer or two might provide her with a dry place to sleep.
She hadn't seen Scarlett since they'd parted ways earlier that week. There was nothing unusual in that; her former roommate's tastes tended to be more discriminating and she favored the finer establishments further up the road. Giselle felt most at home here, in the Faithful Bride, and was content to ply her trade among the many sailors and privateers that frequented the tavern.
The sound of loud voices, coming in from the street, caused Giselle to look up from her meal, hoping perhaps she might not have to sleep in a doorway after all. By all appearances, a new ship must have made port, the men bringing with them the glow of the sun and the smell of the sea. Several of them sauntered towards her; and she gobbled her last bit of bread, wiping her mouth hastily. Then, smiling her most charming smile, she rose and made her way to their table, surreptitiously tugging on her bodice as she went, to reveal more of her assets.
The leader of the group, a sun-burnt fair fellow in a torn and faded Royal Navy uniform, caught her eye and gestured her nearer. He grinned and pulled her into his lap, his groping hands quickly finding their way beneath her gown.
"My, my, yer a pretty one, ain't she, boys?" He gestured toward his companions, who were nodding in agreement. "Me and the gents, here, are lookin' for a bit of entertainment tonight."
Giselle smiled. "Name yer pleasure. Which one of you wants t' go first?"
The blonde man shook his head and leered as he tightened a hand around her wrist. "Oh, we don't want t' be takin' turns. We want a go at ye all together like. Don't we, lads?"
She started to get up only to be pulled back abruptly. "Now don't tell me yer thinkin' of goin'. The night's just begun." The man suddenly had Giselle around the waist, the point of his knife pressed below her breast. "Wouldn't want t' have to force ye now, like that last one. You just come quiet like and we'll let ye keep that pretty face of yers."
With no other recourse, Giselle offered no resistance as the men hustled her out the back door of the tavern, into the alleyway beyond. She only hoped the brutes would be satisfied with just slaking their lust and not be thirsting for something more.
--
Jack had managed to slake both his thirst and his lust at the first tavern he visited. Now, with his goods no longer aching and a belly full of rum, he was content to sit back and listen to the latest island gossip.
The taverns were a buzz over the daring raid on a French merchantman, carried out by a most unlikely pair of rogues. Jack heard it first hand from Gibbs, who heard it from another, who swore he'd heard it from the source itself.
"A woman, Cap'n!" Gibbs had a strained look on his face. "A woman, and that's not the half of it." He paused and took a big swallow of rum. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he leaned forward. "She weren't alone, either."
Jack gave his quartermaster an exasperated look and waved his hand. "Of course, she weren't alone! No pirate, woman or otherwise, can take on an entire ship all by their onesies."
Gibbs shook his head. "Not what I meant, Cap'n. 'T'was that molly that runs the dress shop up the street that planned it all. You know the feller, Pierre somethin' or other."
"Doesn't sound like your average pirate raid, I give you that." Jack helped himself to some of Gibbs' rum and signaled the serving wench to bring more. "What's a dress maker doin' taking on a merchant ship?"
"Well, you see Cap'n, it were like this." Gibbs settled down to tell his tale, eyes bright. "This girl, Anne Bonny, she caught wind that this merchant ship, French it were, would be sailing through the channel. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, exceptin' this ship was carrying a special consignment, as it were, a cargo of the finest silks and velvet as well as other riches, destined for the dressmakers up in Charles Town."
Gibbs paused as the serving girl placed two tankards of rum on the table. Taking a long swallow, he resumed his tale.
"Now this lass had been itchin' to go out on account ever since she'd taken up with that Rackham fellow. You know the one, Cap'n. Wears them calico breeches."
Jack nodded and smiled, he was well acquainted with Anne Bonny. Hadn't realized she'd found her a new lover though. Gent best be watchin' his back, with that hot-headed husband of hers.
Taking another sip, Gibbs continued. "So what she did was get together with this Pierre fellow, and he and some of his friends organized themselves a little 'privateering' raid. They stole one of them abandoned wrecks in the harbor, and covered the sails, deck and themselves with turtle blood. Then, they set one of Pierre's dress-makin' dummies in the bow, dressed it in women's cloths, and splashed the blood all over it, as well. The lass, well, she stood over this nightmare figure with a bloody axe, and they sailed out t' the merchantman. When them Frenchmen caught sight of that boat in the moonlight, they thought the devil himself were after 'em. Fearin' the worse were yet t' come, they turned over their cargo without a fight."
Gibbs sat back with a satisfied smile on his face.
"And?" Jack asked, with an expectant look.
"And what?" Gibbs frowned. "Right smart of 'em if you ask me."
"Codswallop." Jack sat back and waved a dismissive hand. "Imagine ol' Annie remembered me tellin' her about using that same trick that time me and me crew took on the entire Spanish Windward Fleet." He smiled and ran his fingers through his beard. "Girl always did love to hear them tales."
Gibbs raised a bushy eyebrow. "Didn't know you were acquainted with the lass." He ducked his nose back in his tankard. "Heard she's trouble waitin' t' happen."
"Aye. That she is." Jack grinned. If Gibbs only knew the half of it…
--
One of the local fishmongers found her early the next morning. At first, he'd thought her dead; not an uncommon end for those poor souls that plied the streets and wharfs of Tortuga with only themselves to sell. Poor wench had been roughed up good, from the looks of it. On closer examination, she still clung to life, her gaunt ribs rising and falling beneath the remnants of her tattered gown. Figuring she'd come from the tavern across the alley, the old man rapped at the rear door, rousing the landlord from his slumbers.
"Confounded man! What in the blazes you want at this ungodly hour?" The red-faced tavern keeper peered bleary-eyed through a crack in the door.
The peddler pointed toward what appeared at that distance to be a pile of rags behind a stack of crates.
"Found me one of your whores, Hawkins. Not a pretty sight, but still breathing."
Hawkins frowned and opened the door further, glancing around before stepping out into the narrow space between two ramshackle buildings, a place where, even at its zenith, the sun's light was barely able to penetrate. Bending down, he caught his breath as he recognized the poor woman.
"You know her?" The fish peddler glanced curiously at the battered body, her blonde hair hiding her bruised and bloodied face.
The tavern keeper knelt down and gently brushed the hair from her face. With another sigh, he nodded. "I know her. Sweet lass, too; never caused a bit of trouble."
"She got a name?" the elderly man asked in a hushed voice.
Hawkins nodded. "Her name is Giselle."
TBC